The Coat The Boat That Rocked CarlSimon
by howlingwhispers
Summary: The Boat That Rocked. Simon advances on the confused, young Carl. sorry i'm bad at this. Slash so don't flame if you don't like. WARNING: Smex. Harsh language. fluff xD


The Boat That Rocked

**Title:** The Coat

**Pairing:** Simon/Carl

**Characters:** Simon, Carl, Felicity, Mark, Dave, The Count

**Rating:** MA

**Warnings:** Spoilers!

**Word Count: **13520

* * *

"I think," Thick Kevin began, speaking through a mouthful of spliff, "that our cabin is the only one that doesn't stench with the smell of sex."

Carl sighed. He could say many things to that, including Kevin being rather smart when he's high, but the truth of it was that Carl agreed with him. It was depressive in a way. It always surprised him how the girls can fall for Dave and manage to stink up his room. Mark? He could understand, that guy had some wicked powers. But Dave?_Dave_? _**How**_? The Count told him it was because the girls were so spliffed up they don't know what's right. But then maybe it was just because he was a damn good DJ.

So it kind of annoyed Carl when here he was, a (if he must) fine young man with looks that whooped Dave's into the psycho bin and a fresh cock ready for action. Why was it so hard for him to make it with a girl?

"I don't even think," Kevin swallowed heavily, "that we even smoke up the place as much as Quentin does."

Carl saw a puff of smoke curl over the edge of the top bunk, sneaking further down in slow swirls as if it were trying to gracefully land on the ground. Gracefulness was quickly shattered by a harsh spluttering cough by Kevin, forcing a dominating cloud of smoke to ensnare the gentle puff in a dark grey mist, pushing it down a fair way then forcing it upwards again to dissolve in the musky air.

"I _do_think," Kevin continued in a croaky voice, "that Simon's room smells the worst . . . like vodka."

"It doesn't smell like vodka." Carl told Kevin, taking the joint from his mouth in between his fingers.

Kevin squealed, "C-Carl! I didn't know you were there!"

Kevin rustled about in his bed and stuck his head over the edge of the mattress, peering over at Carl in the bottom bunk.

Carl raised an eyebrow.

"You saw me come in."

"I don't believe I did." Kevin replied, ash fluttering off the end of joint while he talked.

"You looked me right in the eye," Carl protested, jabbing his joint in the air for emphasis.

"Well all I know, Young Carl, is that you've been a sneaking up on me during my _private time_." Kevin accused, eyes widening.

Kevin didn't seem like he was going to move any time soon, just continued to glare at Carl, puffing smoke out of his mouth every so often. Carl didn't want to have a fight, couldn't really be bothered, so he rolled off his bed and stumbled out of the cabin and into the chilly hallway, leaving Thick Kevin to his 'private time'. Carl leant on the cool steel wall and took a whiff of his joint. He absently thought that he hadn't smoked this much since _that_ time and he didn't even realize he'd slid down the wall to crouch on the floor, tears streaming down his cheek until Simon placed a warm hand on his knee.

Carl swallowed back his tears and blinked a few times before he smiled into Simon's concerned eyes.

"A bit sea sick, are ya?" Simon asked, patting Carl's knee.

Carl gazed down at the hand on his knee (so big) and saw his joint dying on the cold ground. He nodded, Simon returned the nod and stood up.

"Ah, come on Carl," Simon said, slipping his arms beneath Carl's arm pits and pulling him to his feet, "Come to my cabin and we'll get some medication."

Simon offered Carl his side but Carl was over his initial shock, so he opted to follow Simon to his room on his own feet. It always surprised Carl at how big the boat was; there were still so many rooms he hadn't been into, so many rooms he wasn't sure he ever wanted to go into. And he had to say, he was a bit surprised when he heard the deep throated moans seeping out the cracks of the door to Gavin's room, the door right next to Simon's.

Simon spun open the door to his cabin and gestured for Carl to step in, smile warming his unshaven face. It was the first time he'd been in Simon's cabin (one down, so many more to go) and it wasn't that Simon's cabin was necessarily messy, it was probably unorganized, to say the least. A mountain of clothing in the far corner was partially hidden by a towel draped over the top, a jug of beer sat on a pile of stacked opened records, drugs and some substance Carl couldn't quite place mixed in with the home knitted sheets that hugged Simon's bed. He noticed Simon's room wasn't shared and he absently wondered if he's sharing with Thick Kevin for a reason less innocent than it being the only spare bed left.

A passionate scream rattled through the shared wall and Carl cringed. Simon winced and nodded.

"Picked the short straw." Simon explained, gesturing to the wall.

Simon headed for his bed and brushed it down, patting it as a gesture for Carl to sit. He obeyed and bounced when he sat heavily on Simon's bed. He threw his arms back and leant his weight on them, gazing at the peeling paint on the ceiling. There was a map of the UK pinned to the ceiling, the unpinned parts sagging down to earth. He could imagine the amount of dust bunnies nestling there between the ceiling and the back of the map. He studied the map while Simon rustled through his bed side table drawer, eventually discovering a curious brown pocket, handing it to Carl.

Noticing Carl's quizzical expression, he offered, "It's sea sickness powder. It'll make you feel better."

"Powder?" Carl quirked an eyebrow, flipping the blank pocket over in his fingers.

"Yeah, can't take pills so I crush 'em." Simon explained.

Carl shook his head and returned the pocket. "Can't take powder, so I take pills."

Simon smiled, nodded and tossed the pocket into the open drawer. A sigh escaped him when he seated himself beside Carl.

"You not sea sick, are ya Carl?" Simon asked in his thick Irish accent.

"No." Carl replied honestly.

What else was he going to say? He barely knew Simon, though he had been the nicest to him. So he left it with the simple answer and continued to gaze up at the map of the UK above him, listening to Simon breathe softly beside him. Moans could be heard from the other side of the wall and Carl wondered how Simon could live with this all the time. He fell on his back on Simon's bed and let himself sink into the mattress. The wool smelt like ages old smoke and beer but there wasn't even the faintest smell of sex. Or else it didn't smell like what Carl thought it would smell like. At least he didn't think sex smelt like tea . . . did it?

"How does he do it?" Carl asked after a long silence only broken by the occasional moan from next door.

"He just seems to have a knack for it." Simon answered, instantly knowing what Carl was talking about.

"Are we, those who do not have this 'knack for it', left to be single all our lives?" Carl wondered absently, frowning.

"I don't think so." Simon retorted, falling back on his bed to join Carl.

Carl turned his head in the blankets to frown some more at Simon.

"I met a girl." Simon said simply, "She's beautiful."

Carl hummed. "What's her name?"

"Elenore." Simon responded wistfully, eyes glazing over.

He began to tell the story of how he met Elenore, and Carl wasn't being rude or anything, he _was_listening, just not very well. He was thinking . . . Simon found a girl; it couldn't be too hard for him either. He was put down before, because of Kevin . . . though he shouldn't have been, because Kevin is so thick he probably doesn't even know what his own cock is for. So it helped a little to know that he had a chance at least. He thought his initial problem was that the girls that boarded Radio Rock were too . . . up front, to say the least. He needed a sweet girl, shy like himself, maybe then the more rough men that inhabited this ship wouldn't go for her, and he'd have a chance. Carl supposed he had to go and make a special request.

". . . and the way her hair curls around her ear . . ." Simon whispered.

Carl heaved himself off of Simon's insanely almost illegally comfortable bed and stretched before he stood up. He thanked Simon for helping him though he wasn't sure if his words broke through Simon's day dream, then made his way to Quentin.

* * *

Turned out he didn't even have to ask. Quentin invited his niece to the boat and my, she was_ lovely_. Beautiful, quiet and innocent. How could he ask for anything more? Well, for her _not_ to jump into Dave's bed. He really wondered why he didn't hate the man. He couldn't seem to muster up all that hate. Sure, he was bothered by it; did that mean that all girls were against him? He wouldn't be surprised if they were. He wouldn't be surprised if everyone on that out of control boat was against him. But then, he didn't seem to really care anymore. He'd been fucked over one too many times and sure, he fancied Marianne but she was nothing special, they might have had something special but it's sunk to the depths of the sea now. He knew why too, he was easy, easy to get, easy to lose. But he had no idea how to change that, had no idea how to make it hurt any less, if it made it any better if he got a little angry, unable to learn because he just _couldn't_ put anyone through that.

So he knew exactly how Simon felt when he'd been duped by Elenore, fucked over by her _and _Gavin. Carl followed Simon when he upped and left the table when the crew confronted Gavin. Simon was making his way to his cabin when the thought struck him that Elenore would either be still in there or else be waiting next door and he really didn't want to put up with that right now. So he spun on his heels and run straight into Carl.

Carl started and after a hasty recovery he took the moping Simon by the arm and steered him to Carl's hopefully empty cabin. Sure enough, Kevin had been with the others, consulting Gavin, but Carl shut the door tightly behind them just to be sure. He sat down with Simon on the lower bunk and wrapped a supportive arm around the older man, rubbing his upper arm soothingly.

"Simon –" Carl began only to be abruptly interrupted.

"I don't even care anymore." Simon sighed, rubbing his face with the balls of his hand.

"I know how you feel." Carl assured, patting Simon's arm.

Simon cocked his head. "Yeah sure you do."

"I do." Carl insisted.

Simon's brow crinkled. "She never loved me. Her 'I do' was for Gavin. Women can be so cruel."

Carl brought his other arm over and hugged Simon. "So can men but Gavin didn't mean it. He told Elenore not to, remember?"

Simon heaved a deep breath. "Yeah . . . but he still let it happen."

Carl couldn't deny that. He didn't know Gavin very well but he made an uneducated guess that Gavin probably didn't enforce the rejection. He remained hugging Simon, not knowing what else to say, not really wanting to say anything else but continue to soothe Simon by rubbing his back with his own hand. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, he blamed it on the drugs; his sense of time seemed to dilate because of them, but when Simon spoke, his voice was raspy and dry.

"How do you know how I feel?"

Carl blinked, not knowing what he was talking about.

"You told me you knew how I felt, being fucked over, feeling so stupid." Simon croaked.

"Oh."

"So are you going to tell me?" Simon probed, not breaking from the embrace.

Carl sighed, "It's very sad."

"Can't be as sad as me." Simon laughed.

Carl could feel Simon laugh through the hand on his back, the vibration travelling through his bones, tingling slightly. Simon was warm and smelt faintly of tea. His hair was slightly greasy and tickled Carl's ear when Simon talked.

"I went to a private school in the country. An all boy's school. It was . . . one hell of a boring place without spliff." Carl laughed, then continued when Simon urged him on, "I met this boy, Frank. He was in the grade above me and he was . . . he was _magnificent_. I don't know where he got the spliff but he always had a decent stock. We'd sneak out at night, jump the barbed wire fence that lined the school and hide ourselves in the over grown grass of the farm next to the school grounds.

"We'd wade through the grass and find a spot far away from the fence and crush down the grass to make a clearing. If we lay down, the grass would be high enough to veil us from onlookers. Frankie would take out the spliff and we'd light a joint up and share it. Frankie would read random pages from Oscar Wilde's poem selection and the only light would come from the glow on the end of the joint and the stars above us.

"The way the end flickered, projecting a warm glow over Frankie's face, I didn't think it was possible for him to look more beautiful. He'd hold my hand in the darkness, rubbing a soft thumb over the top of my hand, bumping over my knuckles and feeling the blood pump in my veins. In the winter I'd sidle closer to his side or rest my head on his stomach to feel his body rise and fall while he breathed. I'd listen to his creamy voice as he'd read Oscar Wilde, he had a voice for a narrator of a play or one of those people that read the story and was recorded on tape.

"I relished his voice when I could, the feel of his warmth. Those nights were the only time I was able to see him, we barely saw each other during school. Which suited me fine, I looked forward to the nights when I could see him, hear his voice, touch him. It . . . wasn't just holding hands as we grew older. We never . . . the nights were called off when it was raining. I hated those nights.

"So one rainy night, I decided to go find Frankie myself. But while I was making my up to his dormitory . . . I could have sworn I heard someone groan his name. Groan 'Frankie'. I was the only one allowed to call him that. He hated it when anyone else called him by that. And when I crept into his dorm, I wish I hadn't."

"Why?" Simon coaxed.

Carl swallowed back his tears that he'd been holding in, "He . . . Frankie was . . . he was in bed with another senior . . . doing much more than just holding hands. And . . . the other one, he was moaning his name. Frankie's name. Not Frank. And I don't know. I guess it was childish naivety to believe Frankie only loved me. I barely saw him during the day, who knew what he did in the light of day? Well, I then knew, I know . . . now."

Simon brushed out welling tears in Carl's eyes and Carl didn't even realize he was crying until Simon did that. He blinked rapidly then squeezed his eyes shut. He'd cried again, cried in front of Simon for the second time, over something that was so old and stupid.

"Hey, hey, it's okay now." Simon soothed, cupping Carl's face with his strong hand.

"No, no. He deceived me." Carl whispered, clutching Simon's shoulder for support.

"I know. Me too." Simon replied.

Carl gazed up through blurry eyes at Simon, at his soft blue-grey eyes smiling kindly in themselves in return. Carl quickly scanned Simon's face, over his milky skin, tired sags beneath his kind eyes, skimming over his stubbly chin and in between his nose and his lips. Then his lips. The big, plump lips that were suddenly on his own, suddenly kissing Carl softly and slowly that reminded him too much of Frankie but with an additional care and passion that he had never known before.

Simon was a bit sloppy but with Carl's unconscious help, he was able to guide Simon into a rhythm. Carl's hand crawled from Simon's shoulder around his neck and clawed into the hair on the back of Simon's head, hooking around the loose curls, losing his thin fingers in Simon's thick hair. His other hand found Simon's shoulder again to steady himself while Simon held Carl by the waist and pulled him closer, massaging Carl's back.

Soon Carl could smell a painfully familiar scent of salt and readily taste it on his tongue. He broke apart and ducked his head to wipe away his tears. He wasn't meant to be crying, Frankie was in the past. It was Simon's night. He had just been married for 17 hours only to find that Elenore never loved him, but used him to get into the Star DJ's pants. It should be Simon who's balling his eyes out, heart broken and feeling duped. The material beneath his hand bunched when he clutched Simon's shoulder and he dropped his forehead to Simon's free shoulder. He quietly hoped that he wasn't acting as rebound for Simon.

The door to Carl's cabin creaked and Carl whipped his head around to see Mark standing in the doorway, one hand bunched around several joints and hair frizzing around in the air as if the single strands defied gravity itself.

"Cool." Was all he said before leaving, closing the door behind him as he did.

Carl blinked at the closed door for a few moments then turned to Simon.

"Sorry." Carl apologized, then leapt off the bed and ran out the door, heading for the deck.

* * *

The only other person on the deck was Felicity, sitting on one of the fold out chairs set up for Simon's wedding with a tray of biscuits on her lap. Carl weaved his way through the chairs and took a seat next to Felicity. She offered him a biscuit and he took one in his hand, just to have something there to fiddle with. They sat in silence, Carl furiously thinking and Felicity happily nibbling away on her jam filled biscuits, content for some rare company.

Carl was reflecting on his past relationships; with Frankie, his momentary attempt at a relationship with Marianne and what could come out of one with Simon. Frankie was . . . now that he looked back on it, not as magnificent as he had initially believed. He know saw that Frankie only ever came to Carl when he wanted to, only ever held hands, kissed, came when he wanted to and any time Carl tried a move he'd be rejected, unless Frankie happened to be in the right mood. It was just those stunning looks that blinded him, Carl convinced himself.

Marianne? He didn't quite know what to think about that. At the boy's school there weren't many female exhibits and the school enforced only elderly or . . . less beautiful women to work as teachers. So it was quite a surprise to see all these beautiful women boarding Radio Rock when he first settled in. He didn't quite know what to do; they're not like men, they're gentle creatures and one wrong move can turn them away completely. But Marianne, she was . . . she was mystifying. Such a sweet smile, such beautiful eyes and hair and body and her laugh was quite cute but . . . she was beastly underneath pale skin. Carl had instantly assumed she would have had standards, but Dave, really now, the man doesn't know what it even means to have standards.

So yeah, he was pretty shocked when he walked in on them but strangely enough it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. Well, he knew it didn't hurt as much as it did with Frankie, but that was . . . different. Not just because he was male, but . . . Carl had only known Marianne for all of what, two hours? It could have been wonderful though, without Dave, it could have been magical. And if it had, maybe he wouldn't even be there contemplating it all right then. But then, knowing himself, Carl thought he probably would have anyway.

Because Simon, no he was something more than what Marianne could be. Maybe he could learn to love Marianne, to be gentle with her and find the small spot of sweetness that is dominated by the beastliness. But Simon . . . maybe Carl was being biased but he knew that he'd always loved the way men's bodies are shaped better, had always found it was easier to be around men than women, liked their behaviours better, loved that men knew what to do for each other because it just came naturally. And Simon had the long legs, the lovely floppy hair, the lips, the strong body (and the accent) and it wasn't just physical features. It was the way Simon would always talk to Carl even when nobody else could be bothered, how he'd hang about close to make sure he knew he wasn't alone, would always tell his news to Carl first before announcing it to the rest of the crew. How he'd clasp his long fingers around his mug of tea in the morning and clutch it close to his chest, shuffling around in ragged old slippers that probably did nothing to warm his feet but he loved them nevertheless.

None of the things were annoying, none of the things were dislikeable, only noticeable and some what admirable. They were what made up Simon, and they were still only observations, Carl still had much more to learn. And the fact was, Carl looked forward to learning more, to learn just how he liked his tea, the story behind the falling apart slippers, the way he looked after his hair if he did at all, be able to recall the feeling of his touch at will.

Waves splashed violently every so often, spraying suds of water up into the air and falling back down to join the family. Carl bit off a slice of the biscuit and tasted jam encased by the biscuit, he let it dissolve in his mouth before he swallowed it down and grinned. He looked across the tumbling waves, no land could be seen from either direction and he suddenly felt isolated.

"Do you want to go back to the mainland?" Felicity asked softly.

Carl turned to her then his eyes dropped to the mound of biscuits on the tray on her lap. "Do you?"

Felicity offered Carl another biscuit but he declined the offer, gesturing to the half eaten biscuit still in his hand. He nibbled on the biscuit, lapping at the sweet jam inside and wondered why women were only sweet on the outside.

"But you're sweet on the inside." Carl commented.

Felicity gasped in surprised, then grinned sheepishly. "All women are."

"No they're not." Carl stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Maybe lesbians are. But not Marianne."

"Oh, Dear," Felicity pulled Carl's head to her shoulder and fussed with his hair, "That was a rotten thing of Dave to do. I'll have a word to him about that."

"You don't have to." Carl protested, enjoying her soft lady hands grooming him.

"But he shouldn't have done that. I'll have a word with Gavin too. They've been terribly naughty boys lately." Felicity patted Carl's head.

When Carl had finished his biscuit he helped Felicity pack up the wedding set up and wash up the dirty dishes. Neither talked much, but it wasn't an awkward silence that rested between words, it was quant and mutual. Felicity would hum to the songs the DJs played on the radio and lighten the mood with small jokes but she wouldn't push anything, she wouldn't force Carl to talk and he thanked her for it.

After cleaning up Carl returned to his cabin to find Kevin face down on the floor, having rolled off his bunk. He helped the heavily stoned Kevin on the lower bunk just in case he decided to roll off the top bunk and snap his neck. Carl had no idea how long Kevin had been lying there on the cold boat floor, mumbling about Duffy and octopi that squirted records instead of smog but it had to be a long time if the red mark left on Kevin's cheek was anything to go by.

Carl changed the sheets on Kevin's bed just in case . . . he didn't really want to know what Thick Kevin did when he got high (the times he called his 'private time') and he wasn't going to sleep in the same sheets that Kevin had been. Unfortunately for him, Carl's mind kept nagging at him with petty thoughts and kept him awake so he angrily sat up abruptly in bed when he'd just about had enough of it. Sitting up quickly was a bad idea; he forgot he was sleeping on the top bunk and hit his head on the ceiling. Through the throbbing pain, a reason suddenly clicked for why Kevin was so thick.

He pressed his palm to his head and was surprised when he didn't fall off the ladder as he was clambering down in the blinding darkness. He heaved his way out of the iron door and cursed at the brightness of the eerily cold hallway. His head throbbed and his eyes saw coloured speckles as he swayed in the hallway, resting himself on the wall. He pressed his hand into his head harder and made his way to the kitchen.

He found a mug and filled it with water twice, glugging down the water both times. He jumped when The Count placed a hand on his shoulder and almost threw the mug right at the ceiling.

"Young Carl, you're up late." The Count commented, yawning.

Carl caught the contagious yawn and nodded sleepily. He _was_ tired, his mind, as cruel as it is, just wouldn't let him sleep and he found himself wondering how The Count got his name. Somehow he imagined The Count prancing about in a black cape with the collar flicked up, hissing and taking women down as he prowled the deck of Radio Rock. Then he thought, maybe because he was good at mathematics, and could count well, but then, that's such a lame reason to call someone The Count.

"Simon was looking for you." The Count stated, brewing a cup of coffee as he spoke.

Carl blinked. Right. It wasn't like he'd cried in front of him (twice), told him his stupid embarrassing story, snogged him and then ran away like a sissy. Not at all. Carl squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. He thanked The Count for informing him and assumed that he better go see if Simon wanted to smash him for kissing him just hours after he'd found out he'd been duped by his wife, soon to be ex-wife.

The headache had died down now that his eyes were adjusting to the light and the pain from hitting his head on the ceiling had diffused and all that remained was a slight dizziness that you get when you sit up too fast mixed with drowsiness. Carl made his way to Simon's room and cringed when he could hear the high pitched moans coming from Gavin's room. The _utter_ bastard.

Carl carefully opened Simon's cabin door and stepped inside the warmth of the room. It could definitely be defined as a mess now, everything everywhere in no particular order, the obscure mountain of clothes strewn all over the place in a fit of rage but there was no sign of Simon. A glint of colour caught in the corner of Carl's eye and he waded through the mess on the floor to Simon's bed. Next to it was a small bin with the patchwork coat Simon wore to his wedding shoved inside. Carl picked it out of the bin and brushed off that weird substance (he supposed it was crushed pills now) off of it and straightened the material.

He'd thought, once he saw Simon walking out on the deck wearing the coat, that he looked ridiculously magnificent with plain black pants and that fantastic coat and matted hair. It struck Carl that he was saddened that Simon was going to get rid of the coat, even if it brought back bad memories, it's not the kind of coat you can just crinkle in the rubbish bin. It was probably really expensive and it felt nice to the touch, velvety in some patches, cotton and wool in other patches.

He lifted the coat to his nose to take a whiff of Simon but it smelt like some kind of crushed medication and he hoped sniffing it up didn't do him any harm. He folded the coat and set it on Simon's bed then crept out of the room. As soon as he stepped outside of the warm cabin, he forgot how chilly it was in the gusty boat hallway so he ducked back into Simon's cabin to fetch the coat. He slung it over his shoulders and awed at the fitting. The sleeves ended just before his finger tips and it was just like wearing a cuddly dressing gown.

Carl stepped back out into the drafty hallway and made his way to his cabin to get some slippers for his trek to the deck. He pushed open his cabin door with much effort and was surprised to see Simon scampering to his feet from behind the door. Simon was as surprised to see Carl in his coat as Carl was to see Simon hiding out in his cabin. A smile broke Simon's surprised expression and he laughed.

"I think it's a bit too big for you, Young Carl." Simon chuckled.

Kevin stirred in the bottom bunk and both Carl and Simon gazed over at the stoned kid sleeping there.

"I thought you were him." Simon said dumbly.

"Thanks." Carl said sarcastically then smiled.

"I want to . . . apologize for earlier." Simon began.

"What for?" Carl cocked his head to the side, loving the collar keeping his neck warm from the gusts of wind that tickled his neck from the open door.

". . . For kissing you." Simon clarified.

"Oh no, that was my fault. I kissed you and I'm sorry and I mean, you got married just yesterday . . . or two days ago . . . I don't know what time it is now but yeah . . . I shouldn't have . . . pushed you or anything." Carl explained.

"But you didn't, it was me. I kissed you, I saw you studying me and your lips sort of parted and you're so pretty and I suppose I couldn't help myself and I hope you didn't think it was just rebound or anything because truthfully, I never loved Elenore. It was just the prospect that a lass actually liked me and actually wanted to marry me that got me all over excited and I never really loved her. Thought that maybe I would grow to, but now I definitely know I'll never love her. But . . . ah . . . I've lost track . . ."

Simon scratched the back of his head and Carl momentarily remembered what it felt like to claw his fingers through the hair back there and he had the sudden urge to stretch the short walk over to him and kiss him but he _couldn't_. Because _Kevin_ was there and even as thick as he might be, Carl wasn't about to take that chance. He opted to take Simon by the arm and pull him out into the breezy hallway.

Simon wrapped his long arms around himself and asked, "Can we go some place warm?"

"Not your room." Carl pointed out.

"Ah." Simon nodded briskly and rubbed his upper arms with opposite hands.

"It'll be windy up." Carl voiced, trying to think of any other place where they could get some privacy _and_ be warm.

"Can't we kick Kevin out?" Simon suggested, a sheepish smile spreading his face.

Carl eyed Simon cautiously. "I'll move him into your room."

Simon nodded and offered a hand when taking the sleeping man to Simon's cabin. Kevin was not only thick minded, but thick boned too; he was surprisingly heavy and Carl was glad Simon was helping him, even though it meant Simon had to hear Elenore and Gavin together. He futilely hoped they were asleep by the time they reached Simon's cabin. He could see Simon cringing at the sounds and once they'd set the still slumbering Kevin down in Simon's bed, he hurried him back to his own room.

Once they were back in the warmth of Thick Kevin and Young Carl's cabin, Simon sat awkwardly on the bottom bunk and Carl joined him. He had been thinking all day, of what he'd do . . . he was lying when he told himself he didn't know Simon very well. He'd been on the boat for months and quiet observation teaches well. Simon's a quiet, reserved yet quirky person and was the friendliest to him when he first boarded Radio Rock. He drunk alcohol with his mates but he really loved a good cup of tea in the morning just before his air time. He liked to play different things in the morning, to mix it up a little and he knew that Simon's listeners loved his Irish accent. Or at least he thought they'd be idiotic_not_ to. Okay so, he didn't know _a lot_ about Simon, but it wasn't like he was a stranger to him like some of the others on the boat. Like newsreader John's friend, the one who always wears a brown jumper, who_ is_ he?

So whilst he was thinking, he asked himself, why did he notice things that Simon did like he'd always put two spoonfuls of sugar into his tea, he sort of pouts in that Irish way when he's confused, there's just that one bit of hair that insists on curling on his cheek . . . Carl realized that he'd been unconsciously noticing these things, waiting for the day he realizes things to surface. Things? Things like . . . maybe Frankie won't be the only man he'd ever love. Maybe there's room for one more person in his heart. Person wasn't right though, one more man, because girls never filled it. They couldn't, as pretty as their hair might be and their soft skin and high voices were, they never did the job, they never understood him like another lad would. He guessed that's why he loved Frankie, because Frankie filled his heart, whilst a girl he'd be constantly fretting if she's going to fuck him over like Marianne did. Then again, Frankie fucked him over, so there's a chance that Simon could very well fuck him over too. Only, Simon had been duped as well, and now that he knows the feeling, he too probably knows that nobody else should feel like that. That's at least what Carl promised himself; to never fuck someone else over when you know exactly how _shit_they'd feel.

Carl sidled closer to Simon and leaned into his side, head resting on Simon's shoulder. He looked across the room and studied the pictures of naked women tacked to the wall. It was all a lie. Maybe not for Kevin (but who knows in that head of his?) but for him at had been. It was just an expectation. Just like the hidden porn stash was. It was just for show, in a sense. He'd been denying his love, hoping to change but knowing it was futile. He just didn't think that it would be _Simon_ that his heart opened up to.

Breaking his thoughts, Simon cupped Carl's chin and gently lifted it off his shoulder only to bring their lips together. Simon's lips were warm and gentle against Carl's and he leant into the kiss. Carl took the chance to weave his fingers into Simon's hair and entwine the curls around his thin fingers. Simon moaned into his mouth and suddenly he was boiling beneath Simon's coat. Carl used his free hand to unbutton the coat but was terribly failing with one hand.

Carl reached for one of Simon's hands and brought it up to the buttons. Simon got the hint and helped Carl out of his coat. Carl was thankful that it wasn't a pull over or he'd have to part from Simon's lovely lips. Once the coat was off, he threw it to the ground, ignoring his earlier lecture to not crinkle the fantastic coat.

Simon then pulled Carl down with him to the bed and let Carl crawl on top of him, careful not to step on any of Simon's long limbs. Simon's hands were running up and down Carl's back, inadvertently pulling Carl's tucked in shirt out, which enabling him to massage his hands over Carl's soft skin as far as the buttons of his shirt would allow him to reach.

Carl moaned once he felt Simon's calloused fingers brush over his back and he stretched his fingers through Simon's hair, lifting the curls out of place and settling them again. The short bristles of Simon's unshaven face irritated Carl's soft skin but he loved that rough, raw feeling and didn't care that there'd be a stubble rash around his lips in the morning.

He could feel Simon fiddling with the annoyingly small buttons on his shirt and sighed at the lack of attention to his body. Simon was taking too long getting his shirt off so Carl reluctantly sat up to hurriedly pop the buttons out of the holes and throw his shirt into oblivion. Carl could feel his lips puffing slightly and he grinned when he gazed down at Simon beneath him, pink in the face, hair matted and eyes glassy with want.

Carl swooped down and rejoined their lips, feeling their swollen lips move together in unison, slopping, sucking and tasting. Simon's hands returned to the skin on Carl's back and he was able to brush his hands over the entirely toned surface, tracing the knobs of Carl's spine up to his neck and down around his torso to his chest to momentarily dip a finger into Carl's bellybutton and knead into his nipples.

Carl's fingers returned to explore the jungle of Simon's hair and, from his half sitting-half lying position, he began to roll his hips down onto Simon's, relishing the moans that elicited Simon's mouth every time Carl would roll his hips down enough to brush their clothed cocks together. Soon kissing and rolling his hips at the same time became too difficult for him so Carl slid his head down to Simon's shoulder, painting a trail of saliva over Simon's chin and neck and pressed his forehead into the crook of Simon's neck.

Carl could feel Simon's cock rock hard beneath his trousers and wondered what Simon would say if Carl told him he hadn't been this hard since he hit puberty and even then, his cock had never been straining this much, insisting on dribbling precum into his underwear. His arms still locked in Simon's hair were loosing blood circulation so he unwove them only to steady himself as he rolled his hips. He could feel Simon's sloppy lips pressing warm kisses down his neck and felt the stubble brush over his delicate skin.

He could feel himself sweat mercilessly and he could have sworn the room went up at least 20 more degrees. Simon's shirt was starting to feel quite damp as his slippery skin rubbed against it and he could feel heat radiating from Simon's body like a god damned heater. Carl curled his arm beneath Simon's and found his hair again, not bothering if his arms decided to fall off as long as he could still feel that glorious hair beneath his fingers. While he was brushing through Simon's damp hair, his thumb found Simon's ear and his short nail scraped on the sensitive skin behind his ear.

Simon moaned deeply and his hips bucked Carl's violently, his hands flung to clasp tightly around Carl and he really, _really_ needed to touch so with his spare hand, Carl fished beneath their bodies and rubbed his clothed cock, only to bump his knuckles against Simon's. With one last ear scrape, the sweaty friction between slippery skin and cotton and Carl's hand kneading both cocks, Simon moaned throatily and shuddered.

Carl sat up to drink in the image of Simon cumming to his ministrations, well, as much as he could through the dimness of the room. He loved the way Simon's eyes fluttered shut and his breath came out in warm, jerky gasps and ghosted over Carl's skin and again, the knowledge that _Simon __**came**_ ensured Carl to quickly follow suit. He smacked his lips on Simon's shoulder and sucked on his shirt as he spurted into his pants, back shuddering beneath Simon's clutches.

He collapsed on top of Simon and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Simon's arms relaxed around him and he rolled off Simon to let him breathe properly, curling his thigh around Simon's. His pants felt revolting and awfully damp but he was too exhausted to clean up so he just lay there with Simon, curling his fingers around Simon's hair until his eyes were too tired to stay open.

* * *

He woke to the musky smell of sex, skin and sweat wafting up his nose and he sleepily concluded that was the glorious smell that had previously lacked their cabin. Carl opened his eyes only to be poked in the eyeball by strands of Simon's curly hair. He blinked rapidly and rolled his head to the side to meet the solid steel wall with the tip of his nose. Wedged to the side of the single bunk bed was not the ideal place to stir from a deep sleep but then again, he _had_ woken next to Simon which made things instantly better.

Carl's torso shivered so he tucked his head back in the crook of Simon's neck, slung his legs over Simon's and wrapped his un-squashed arm over Simon's stomach, hugging close to his warmth. He ignored the crusty feeling in his pants and focused on catching some more sleep before Simon had to leave him for his morning show.

He found his mind wandering while he felt Simon's chest rise and fall beneath his arm. He visualized what Simon's sleeping face looked like, wondered what his face would look like when he's having his wet dreams, what tone of pink his face will flush to when he wakes to find Carl sprawled over him. He wondered if Simon would be angry . . . he frowned and unhooked his legs, letting them fall in the space between the mattress and the cold steel wall.

What if Simon really was angry? They never really did finish their conversation . . . what if what Simon had to say was to stay back and leave him alone? And there he had gone and jumped Simon like a greedy child grabs for candy. But then, if that _was_ the case, Simon would have pushed him off instead of pulling him down on the bed and kissing him with those sweet lips of his . . . wouldn't have let him rolls his hips into Simon's, wouldn't have let Carl see his face when he came. Oh, his _face_.

Just the memory was enough to make him hard again, the way the skin of Simon's face creased and his eyes rolled in the back of his head as his eyelids fluttered shut and his lips curling around in an "O" shape and the _noises_ he made. The moans, the groans, the short intakes of breath and the cry he elicited when he came.

"Ah, Young Carl," Simon began sleepily, "Your cock's digging into me side."

Carl gasped in surprise and rolled off Simon, pressing his bare back against the steel wall, feet slipping further down in the gap.

"Oh, no, it's okay. Come on back." Simon coaxed, not bothering with any encouragement, just pulled Carl back to the warmth of his side.

Simon yawned widely and rubbed his mouth. When he drew away his hand, a saliva trail glued itself to the top of Simon's hand and broke just when the hand reached Carl's back, soothingly rubbing in his warmth. Carl timidly nestled his nose back in the crook of Simon's neck and pressed a small kiss to the skin there. Simon released a happy breathy sigh and slipped his hand over Carl's.

They lay in silence in the crisp early morning hours, listening to each other breathe and feeling chests rise and fall with each breath. Simon's legs were too long for the bed so he had them tightly folded at the end of the bed, probably hadn't moved them all night. Carl was stubbornly ignoring his flaring cock, knowing that if he paid attention to it, it would ruin the mellow afterglow and he had to admit, he hadn't had a mood this nice even with Frankie.

Instead of his rude cock breaking the mood, it was Simon who abruptly sat up, hitting his head on the bottom of the top bunk. He cursed and swung his legs to the floor, cursing some more at the numbness of his legs. Carl watched bemusedly as Simon stood awkwardly and balanced himself on the frame of the bunk bed, then let himself drop down to speak to Carl.

"I've got to run my show." Simon explained, patting Carl's shoulder affectionately before limping out of the cabin.

Carl rolled into the dip of his bunk, absorbing the rapidly dissolving warmth where Simon had been lying and hugged his upper arms. He lay there, soaking up the warmth until he held too much and it was going to spill out of him. He rolled off the bed and set his bare feet to the cold ground. Using the ball of his palm he rubbed the morning bleariness out of his eyes and scratched at his belly.

Carl thought he may as well make his way to Simon's room to make sure Kevin isn't too weirded by waking up in a different bed. He stretched as he stood up and fished up his shirt that he threw off the night before, folding it carefully and placing it back on his messy bed. He then took out a clean set of clothes, peeled off his slightly sticky underpants and trousers, joining them with his folded shirt and pulled on the clean clothes.

He found a coat hanger and hung up Simon's coat in his wardrobe before leaving the cabin and making his way to Simon's dropping his dirty clothes off at the laundry along the way. Kevin was thankfully still asleep so Carl took up the radio off Simon's bed side table and flicked it on. The Kinks were playing and Carl patted his thigh to the music. He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to make the mattress sag and set the radio down on his lap.

Carl found himself gazing upward again, studying the map pinned to the ceiling. He began unconsciously humming to the music and started when Kevin broke through his trance.

"This is my favourite song." Kevin slurred through drowsiness.

Carl turned to look at Kevin; his eyes were still closed with slumber and he was yawning widely. He rubbed his eyes and his mouth then flopped his arm to his side as if it had disconnected from his body.

"Oh, it's you Carl. I thought you was a pretty young lass." Kevin sounded disappointed.

Carl snorted and moved off the bed so Kevin could clamber out.

"I say, where am I?" Kevin asked, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Simon's room. You were sleep-walking," Carl lied.

"Ah I see," Kevin agreed, then squinted quizzically at Carl's chin. "Looks like you've contracted a bit of a rash there, my friend."

Carl rubbed his chin, must have been stubble rash. He smiled.

"You want to go catch some breakfast?" Carl suggested.

Kevin hadn't seemed to hear him, or just it hadn't registered in his thick head that Carl had even spoken, instead roamed around the room, poking and prodding at random objects, taking a sip of a cup of brown coloured liquid that could have been anything then happily waddled out of the cabin without saying another word.

At that point, Simon's voice boomed over the radio and Carl jumped, so startled that he almost dropped the radio he was clutching. He returned it to the bedside table and bounced on Simon's bed as he lazily rolled onto it.

"So ladies and gentlemen, I'm filing for a divorce with that fucker but I still won't be a free man! I gotta say, I just had the _best_ fucking night I've had in my _entire_ life and my cock's still hard to show it! Hope you all had a rocking night like I did, now enjoy _this _track!" Simon gushed, lining up a Wilson Pickett hit.

Carl felt himself sink in the mattress of Simon's bed and he wondered how on earth the man didn't suffocate in it. Every minute he grew wearier, and as if he hadn't had enough sleep the night before, he found himself nodding off to Simon's rich Irish voice practically beaming over the air waves.

* * *

Carl had promised himself not to _ever_ fuck anyone else over like he had been by Frankie because he knew all too well just how terrible you feel when you have been. So it surprised him when he got a taste of Frankie's own medicine.

"There you are! What were you doing in here?" Quentin boomed as he kicked open the door to Simon's cabin.

Carl leapt of Simon's bed, the radio clattering to the floor after him.

"W-what?" Carl stuttered, seeing dots from standing up too quickly.

"Marianne's visiting today. Get off your arse and up to the deck to meet her." Quentin ordered, swinging his arms wildly in the air.

It shouldn't bother him so much that at the mention of Marianne's name, Carl's heart thumped. He couldn't quite work out why, mainly because he thought he'd decided that after his epic failure at trying to seduce her, he never wanted to see her again, or any girl for that matter, if all of them were like that. So why was it, that even after concluding he didn't want to pursue anything with her _and_ after his thing with Simon, he still felt hot all over at the thought of her? He felt like that betrayed something within himself, and he felt awful for even thinking of her bittersweet smile.

"Don't just stand there gawking son, come on up." Quentin clapped a hand to Carl's back, making him jump.

Quentin dragged Carl behind him on his way up to the deck and all Carl could register was that he was actually feeling _looking forward_ to seeing Marianne again. He hated it. He hated that while he was waiting for her in the main room, he was anticipating what she was going to say, what he was going to say, and kicked himself for it all. Then when their eyes met, her eyes twinkled like they do in the cartoons and he couldn't help but to blush at the sight.

Marianne trotted over to Carl who stood up from the lounge and she bounced on her heels in front of him, smiling that contagiously sweet smile of hers. Her blond friend was whisked away somewhere by Felicity and Carl felt Marianne's hand in his, tugging him away to a similar place. It all happened so fast and Carl wasn't really prepared when he found her warm, slight body press up against his front and sticky lips press to his.

Her lip stick lathered lips smiled at Carl's stillness, his solid stone shock at the unexpected move and she giggled. Carl felt her hook a hand around his elbow and steer him off into the nearest cabin. She pushed him down on the bed and clambered into his lap, joined their lips again and coaxed Carl to move with her.

It occurred to Carl that this was the first time he'd kissed a girl and he smiled at the thought. But then, it wasn't really what he thought it would be like; Marianne's lips were uncomfortably sticky and he was sure he'd have pink smeared around his mouth, her movements were not graceful but hinted a tinge of desperation. He had to admit, it was nice that bristles weren't scratching at his mouth but then, he kind of liked that, and he knew he didn't like that sticky mark left on his skin.

She smelled of rosemary and her velvety hair fell around his shoulders as she moved around him, limbs confident in their movements. Her skin was as white as his own except hairless and as soft as baby's skin. And really, the kissing wasn't all too bad if he ignored the ferocious betrayal pricking his neck with a mighty pick axe. It wasn't like he loved her, sure she was beautiful and obviously liked him enough to kiss him and things but he wasn't turned on by her thwarts. He didn't find her desperation at all enticing, her make up was rubbing off on his face and if he left her only for a few minutes, only to return to see her with someone else, how could he know that she won't do that again? So there was no real reason why he was kissing back and why his cock was starting to stir except that her actions were somewhat sensual, but that's only natural, right?

It became apparent that the sneaky girl had managed to peel his shirt off while he was in deep though and was running her small hands over his bare skin. _It_ wasn't going to happen, not with Marianne, not with any girl in fact, even if he had fantasized about that wet, hot feeling of rocking in between a girl's legs, the delicious slapping noise of skin on wet skin and the heat encasing his cock. He knew it wasn't true though, his wishes; they were all a lie and he didn't really want that, thought it could help him move on by fabricating his mind. It wasn't right, it wasn't true, Simon was true, or would be if he made it work so Carl put a hand to Marianne's chest and pushed her back.

"I don't –"

"Just gonna get my –!" Dave kicked open the door and Carl whipped his head around, "Oh! Lookie here, Carl's with Marianne! Hey everybody, Carl's gonna make it with Marianne!" Dave shouted, sticking his head out into the hallway.

There was quite a loud cheer from nearby joined with clapping and shouts of approval. Carl maneuvered Marianne off his lap and onto the bed behind him then leapt to his feet and to the door. He could hear the cheer growing louder and just as he looked over Dave's shoulder he saw half the crew gathering just outside the door. Someone wolf whistled and the crowd cheered at the sight of Carl half naked and flushed.

Flushed for a different reason.

His eyes met with Simon's, dark and wide. Marianne slid beside him and curled her arms around his bare chest. He became aware of her cool bare chest pressing against his back and absently wondered how he could have missed her taking off her dress. Simon's eyes lingered on Marianne's hands curled protectively around Carl's chest and bounced off her cheery smile to Carl's crest fallen expression. The last thing Carl saw before Simon left, head fallen and shoulders hunched, was a mixture of hurt, anger, betrayal and exasperation. The look imprinted Carl's mind and he was sure he would never forget it.

Carl untangled himself from Marianne's cling and waded through the cheering crowd to follow Simon. Simon was making his brisk way to his room and Carl could hear the crowd behind him calling him back to the girl rejected in the doorway. He decided Dave could have her, even if Quentin didn't approve.

The wind of the hallway tickled his bare torso and made his voice sound higher than usual when he called out to Simon. Simon halted and spun around, tear trails altering at the sudden movement.

"You fucked me over Carl! You fucking fucked me over. I should never have . . . I should never have believed that we had something, that we could have had something. It was all too sudden, Elenore too. You've both lied to me to just make me so fucking shit. And I don't want to speak to you anymore so just leave, would you?" Simon yelled, tears staining his face and he spat unintentionally while he talked.

Simon spun on his heel again and strode off to his cabin and Carl absently noted that Simon was wearing the same trousers he was last night, probably meaning he hadn't changed. Carl relentlessly followed him, continuously calling after Simon to stop and listen to him. Simon flung open the door to his cabin and slammed it behind him and Carl could hear him securely locking it. Carl banged his fists on the steel door.

"Simon _please_! Just listen to me . . ." Carl cried helplessly.

"No!" Simon shouted, "This always fucking happens to me. Something goes good and then it just goes to shit."

Through the door Carl could hear Simon thrashing about in his room, probably messing up the place more than it already was. Carl slid down the door and pressed his forehead against the cold door, wrapping his arms around his chest.

"I didn't mean to though . . . I don't like her like I like you . . . I don't like girls . . . I like you." Carl admitted, betrayal and guilt swarming in his chest.

"Why should I believe you when I can't even trust you to not to go behind my back and fuck someone else?" Simon choked.

"But I didn't . . . Dave walked in on us before we could even –"

"So if Dave hadn't walked in you would have fucked her then, is that right?"

"No! No, I was stopping her just when Dave walked in . . . I swear! It happened too fast and I didn't even realize she had my shirt off and all the while I was thinking that it wasn't all it was cracked up to be."

There was a pause, then, "I don't believe you."

"No, no, no please Simon. Simon, come on, I didn't do anything with her."

"Except kiss her?"

"Yes but _she_ kissed _me_, it was entirely _her _fault." Carl protested.

"Ah so your blaming people now. Well done Carl, once been duped, now the duper."

The next thing Carl heard was the radio turned up full blast in Simon's room, blocking out any chance of further conversation. Carl bit his lip, turned to prop himself up against the door and drop his head back to band on the steel. He sat there, soaking up the coldness from the stainless steel and listen to the music blaring from within Simon's room.

* * *

Nobody had seen Simon in days. He hadn't even showed up for his morning show, leaving Quentin to fill in for him. Nobody except Carl knew why. Felicity guessed it was bad food and made sure to send Simon only her finest meals. Dave thought it was because he was angry that everyone else was getting some but Simon wasn't, which wasn't entirely true because there were other men on Radio Rock that weren't getting any either. Of all, Quentin was probably had the closest guess. He thought that the shock of Elenore finally hit him, which was a part of the problem.

Not entirely though, Carl knew most of Simon's lack of appearance about the boat was mostly his fault. He'd reignited hope in Simon's heart that he wasn't a complete loner and was actually capable of being loved by someone and then completely ruin it. By accident of course. But every time Carl tried to convince Simon this, he'd either get no response or be yelled at to go away by a croaky voice he was beginning to fail to recognize as Simon's.

Carl took a long drag of his joint and let the smoke circulate his mouth before blowing it out gently. He watched the smoke swirl in the misty air, dance about gracefully in soft wisps of smoke. He concluded this was the most he'd ever smoked in his life; guilt and betrayal really did nothing good for him. His stomach rumbled violently, threatening to explode if it was not fed anything other than spliff and alcohol. Carl sighed and drove his joint into the ash tray then lit up another before rolling out of bed.

He took another long drag of his joint and propped his elbow in his other hand. Smoke fizzled from the end of the joint, mixing with the heavy smog that clouded the cabin. Carl was practically passive smoking as he stood in the room. The dull light shone down through the smog and cast a blue shadow over everything opaque just like in the bush fire season.

Still hanging in the wardrobe was Simon's coat. Carl lifted his fingers and dragged them down jaggedly across the bumpy material. It didn't smell like Simon anymore. It smelt like smoke, like guilt and despair. Carl had contemplated returning it to Simon but then, he couldn't bear not having something of Simon left around him, that is, if Simon was still angry with him. He'd kicked Marianne off the boat in an attempt to prove himself to Simon, but he hadn't heard a reply. He'd tried apologizing so many times his throat hurt from saying the words again and again but nothing seemed to alter Simon's mind. There was no point for Carl to stay on the boat anymore; if Simon didn't want him anymore, he didn't want to be on the boat. He wasn't doing anything anyway, nothing productive, he wasn't even training to be a DJ or whatever. He was just _there_. Being Carl. Being a _nuisance_.

Carl clutched the handle to the door and pulled it open, watching the wind gust in and play with the smoke. He left the door open to let his cabin hopefully air out and he made his way to the kitchen.

The light was still on, but then, was it ever turned off, rewarded to a break from its constant beaming? He stood observing the kitchen, plates were stacked in a terrific mess in the sink and the cycle seemed endless; piles of dirty utensils and plates washed and used and dirty again but there always seemed to be more dirty than clean, sometimes there was even a shortage of clean plates so dirty ones were reused.

He made his way to the dining table and took a seat. He propped his elbow up on the table and took a whiff of his joint. The light from the kitchen barely cast enough light over the dining table but it was dull enough not to glare in Carl's slowly adjusting eyes and enough to let him observe the room. Time passed but he wasn't quite sure how much; all he knew was the colour of the sea through the port holes was growing brighter so he assumed morning would be soon. Footsteps could be heard behind him but he really couldn't be bothered to turn around and greet whoever it was, simply took another drag of his joint and puffed out the smoke in rings.

There was rustling in the kitchen and he heard someone put water to the boil. Carl peered over into the lightness of the kitchen and studied the large figure bustling about. He was rubbing his forehead with his hand while he joined the stack of plates with a new set of dirty plates. As soon as Carl's eyes had adjusted to the level of brightness present in the kitchen, he gasped. The figure in the kitchen was none other than Simon, whom he hadn't seen in well over a week.

Simon didn't seem to have noticed Carl was there and set about preparing his tea. Once the tea was brewed, Simon wrapped his large hands around the mug and took a sip. He then looked into the dining room but had likely not seen Carl for the veil of darkness over him disguised him. Carl sat bemused, watching Simon sip his regular morning tea and wondered if this wasn't the first time Simon came out of his room.

"I'm going to leave the boat." Carl announced, voice croaky with lack of use.

Simon jumped and burnt his tongue. He rounded the kitchen and came into the dining room, when he spied Carl sitting at the table he glared.

"What do you mean?" Simon huffed, sounding a bit funny from his burnt tongue.

"Meaning I'm going to get off this boat and never come back." Carl explained, gazing half lidded up into Simon's eyes.

Simon gawked and clutched the nearest chair. "What? Why?"

"Because," Carl began, taking a drag before he continued, "This boat has brought me nothing but trouble."

"I see." Simon whispered, taking a seat and clasped his hands around the mug he set on the table.

"I'm leaving tomorrow." Carl informed.

Simon watched as Carl reached over hesitantly and brushed his fingers over Simon's entangled hands but said nothing. Simon's hands were warm from the heat of the mug in contrast to Carl's ice cold fingers. Steam floated out of Simon's mug and Carl knew the tea would grow cold quickly if Simon did not drink it.

"I'll keep tuning in to your radio." Carl said absently.

"You don't have to." Simon replied, fiddling with the handle of his mug.

"There are no other good ones anyway."

"No I mean you don't have to leave." Simon corrected, looking over at Carl.

Carl met Simon's gaze and held it, there was something in Simon's eyes that he couldn't quite read. He licked his lips and squashed the end of his joint on the table, extinguishing it.

"I serve no purpose here Simon. I do nothing but smoke weed." Carl pointed out.

"But . . . but I don't want you to leave." Simon explained.

And that's when Carl saw it; the yearning in Simon's eyes, the want, the need, the pleading exasperation and _love_. For a moment he didn't know what to think, his mind was blankness and then he couldn't help but smile because Simon was smiling and there was a sudden shared knowledge between them that everything would be okay.

"I want you to know that I never liked Marianne. I told you before, I don't like girls." Carl reminded Simon.

Simon nodded vigorously. "I know, I heard from Felicity that Marianne had been saying how unenthusiastic you were."

"I _do_ like lesbians though!" Carl laughed.

Simon laughed too and it occurred to Carl that it was the first time he'd laughed properly in a while. Not including giggles from his vivid dreams whilst high, but this was a real, honest to God laugh, and Simon was laughing with him and it just made the whole moment so much better.

"And yeah . . . I want you to know I'm sorry about my whole mope session. I . . . I guess the main thing was that . . . I fell in love with you so quickly and then you fucked me over just like Elenore did. I thought . . . I don't know, I thought I was going to be cursed for ever for believing in love at first sight."

Carl grinned. "You love me?"

Simon scratched the back of his neck and replied sheepishly, "Yes . . . since you boarded the ship."

The grin was so wide it could have cracked Carl's face and he shot up from his chair letting it clatter to the floor and rounded the table to Simon. He placed one hand on the table for balance then swooped down and kissed Simon. Simon smiled through the kiss and his lips tasted like bitter tea.

Carl drew back and leaned his forehead against Simon's. "You didn't put any sugar in your tea."

"Life's bitter without you." Simon grinned, blushing at the soppy statement.

Carl brushed his lips over Simon's then clasped Simon's hand and pulled him out of the dining room into the lounge area and sat on the couch, tugging Simon over him. He stretched his neck up and joined their lips together. Simon dropped his hands to the top of the couch either side of Carl and then stood between the V of Carl's legs. Carl plunged his fingers into Simon's hair and used his power over the delicate hairs of Simon's head to pull Simon in closer. He sucked on Simon's lower lip before breaking through his teeth with his tongue and exploring the damp tavern.

Carl untangled one of his hands from Simon's hair and plucked the buttons of Simon's blue shirt open with just one hand. It seemed much easier now, he didn't know why; it was just as dark as it was before. Nevertheless, Carl managed to peel off Simon's shirt and toss it to the floor somewhere. He smoothed his hand over Simon's chest and felt the tiny chest hairs tickle his skin as he brushed his hand over Simon's torso. He could feel Simon's heart thump beneath his hand and blood rushed at the thought that it was beating fast for _Carl_.

Simon fell to the couch and flipped Carl around so that Carl could straddle him while they kissed. Carl, pleased with the turn over, rolled his hips into Simon's while he clawed Simon's luxurious hair. He felt Simon unbuttoning his shirt and stretched his arms so Simon could pull the sleeves off his arms. Carl's hand travelled down Simon's chest, circled around his nipple, dipped into his belly button and followed the slightly hairy trail down to the hem of Simon's trousers.

Simon jerked when Carl dug a finger beneath the hem and slipped it beneath the hem of Simon's briefs, brushing passed the bristly hair there. Without the help of his other hand, Carl managed to unzip Simon's trousers and kneaded Simon's clothed cock. Simon moaned into Carl's mouth and Carl could feel his hot breath ghost across the walls of his mouth. Carl found a way out of Simon's jungle of hair and used both hands to shimmy Simon out of his trousers and underpants.

Carl broke away from Simon's lips to momentarily marvel at the size of Simon's cock. He had known it was big from the feel of it but it was so much lovelier to see with his own eyes. He dropped his knees to the floor and fisted Simon's hard cock. Simon groaned at the unexpected touch and a hand flung to clutch Carl's shoulder while Carl bent forward and took Simon's cock into his mouth.

Carl had blown Frankie many times before so he knew what was to be expected. He encased Simon's cock in the hot heat of his mouth and licked around the shaft before carefully sliding Simon's cock in and out (but not all the way) of his mouth, cautious not to scrape his teeth on the sensitive skin. He could hear Simon panting above him and he sucked at the head of Simon's cock, tasting the droplets of precum leaking from the slit before swallowing as much cock as his mouth would allow him. Simon's thigh's were twitching at the sides of Carl's head and the hand clasping Carl's shoulder gripped tightly every time Carl took as much cock as he could into his mouth, rubbing the base with his hand where his mouth could not reach.

His mouth began feeling like a furnace and his cock was throbbing painfully, straining against the constriction of his trousers. His free hand had travelled to his crotch and he pressed down hard in hope to suppress the burn but it only made it worse. Carl took one last sip of the bitter precum leaking from Simon's cock then let it slip out of his mouth.

He held Simon's wet, rock hard cock in his trembling hand and gazed up at Simon. His face was flushed and his mouth parted, lips swollen from kissing. Simon was looking at Carl as if he was a God beaming light and happiness to all.

"I want," Carl began, mesmerized by Simons eyes, "I want you inside me . . ."

All Simon did was nod so Carl pulls his trousers off while he stands and steps out of them. Then he peeled off his damp underwear and blushed when Simon's eyes are drawn to his alert cock. He clambers onto Simon's lap and spreads his legs either side of Simon, wedging his knees into the fold of the couch. They both gasp when their hard cocks rub up against each other and Simon's hands fling to cup Carl's arse cheeks.

Carl pauses before spitting in his hand and rubbing the saliva over Simon's cock. Simon moans at the touch and his mouth stays open. Carl uses the opportunity to poke two fingers in Simon's mouth and let Simon suck on them, lather them with saliva. Carl then leans forward and raises his bottom so he can use his saliva lathered fingers to prepare himself. The perked cocks in between bodies rut together, eliciting a shared moan.

Once Carl was suitably prepared, he shuffled forward and maneuvered Simon's cock to his hole and pushed down slowly. The pain thundered through him as if someone had just pricked a thousand pins into his hole but it was somehow mixed in with a flare of passionate pleasure. Simon moaned deeply as he became encased in the heat of Carl and involuntarily bucked upwards, causing Carl to gasp.

Carl flung his hands to Simon's shoulders to steady himself while he pushed up off the base of Simon's cock and then slammed painfully down again. With the help of Simon, they managed to form a rhythm of rising then slamming down to the base combined with a quick thrust of Simon's hips. Every time Simon managed to hit Carl's prostate, Carl would moan heavily and squeeze Simon's shoulder. Once he was comfortable with the rhythm, Carl swept down and kissed Simon, moving in time with the thrusting of Simon's hips and the rise and fall of his own.

Simon's right hand left Carl's arse cheek only to fist Carl's cock, pumping it in time with the kissing and the thrusting and soon everything was going in time except for the ragged pants of breath that escaped mouths every so often and the quick huffs of air releasing from their noses. Simon was having trouble keeping his seed inside his cock what with all the movement, the slippery sweat making a wet slapping noise as they ground together and the glorious heat of being encased inside of Carl.

All that heightened with just the _thought _that he was actually fucking Carl brought him over the edge and he was cumming into Carl's widened hole, seeds shooting up his arse and trickling around the walls of his arse. Carl screamed and moaned at the same time at the feel of Simon cumming inside of him and the one last slam down on his sweet spot, the pain and the pleasure cracking his walls and he was spurting cum all over Simon's chest.

His head dropped to Simon's shoulder to catch his breath, still sheathing Simon. Sweat washed over his skin and collected in the dips of his body in little beads. He panted and pressed his lips to Simon's skin. He turned his head and pressed his lips to Simon's neck and sucked softly, then kissed the developing hickey. Simon was breathing raggedly beneath him and he wrapped strong arms around Carl's body, keeping him in place.

The pain still wracked through the walls of his arse but it was mostly overrun by pleasure and the slow trickle of cum seeping out. Simon held Carl while he swiveled and lay down on the couch. He carefully unsheathed himself and Carl suddenly felt empty without Simon fulfilling him. Simon pulled Carl's body close to him and entangled his limbs around Carl like a blanket of bumpy warmth. Carl smiled and kissed Simon before snuggling into his warmth and drooping closed his tired eyes.

"I love you," Simon whispered and kissed Carl's head.

Carl hummed and the last thing he remember doing was curling a hand into Simon's hair before nodding off.

* * *

Carl woke to the smell of sweet tea and light pouring in through the port hole. Simon was gone from their makeshift bed of a couch but he was blanketed in something else warm. Carl plucked at the inside of it and followed the scent of tea to a nearby table where he spied a mug of tea steaming there. Beside it sat his clothes folded neatly and he returned his gaze to the blanket wrapped around him and he realized that it wasn't a blanket but a coat. And this coat, this rainbow coloured, ridiculously awesome coat was Simon's.

Carl grinned.

"What are you so happy about?" Dave queried while he waddled toward him with a plate full of waffles.

Dave's eyes darted to Carl's crotch and he winked at him. Carl gazed down and spied the alarming tent his cock had set up beneath the coat, exposing more leg skin that he would have liked Dave to ever see of him. Carl cleared his throat and sat up abruptly, snapped his legs together and tugged the hem of the coat as far as he could over his legs. The coat stretched to his knees and he crossed his arms over his insistent bulge.

"Looks like you scored my boy! Who's the lucky girl?" Dave asked, slapping Carl's back in a proud gesture.

"Simon." Carl answered simply, grin almost splitting the sides of his face.

Dave quirked an eyebrow and looked about him, "What? He's broadcasting."

"No," Carl chuckled, "I slept with Simon."

Dave frowned. "You . . . Simon . . . Coat? Gay?"

Carl suddenly became aware of music playing on the speakers then heard:

". . . And that was Martha and the Vandellas for you and don't you just feel like setting out and dancing now? 'Cause I know I sure do. Now I'd like to announce to you all that I am very much in love right now and I'd like to make a shout out to my very special boy who's sleeping in the next room, Carl, I love you. I love you so god damned much and just like to tell the world that. Thanks, now here's a track I know you'll all love. . . "

Dave gawked at Carl who grinned right back at him. Next thing he knew, Simon was bursting through the door and making his way to Carl. Carl stood up and Simon completely disregarded Dave as he swept down and kissed Carl, and Simon knew then that his odds with bad relationships had come to an end.

**A/N: .. yeah i really hate the ending. a lot. but it had to end somehow. and there it is. Nevertheless, i hope you enjoyed the fic :D**


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